


Cherry Wine

by DownTime



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Big Bottom Little Top, Cock Slut, Conditioning, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Control, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Witcher Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23169013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownTime/pseuds/DownTime
Summary: Jaskier helps Geralt learn to relax and unwind... through the use of a potion that leaves him suggestible, and some sweet words that urge him to just let Jaskier take care of him. In every way.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 399





	Cherry Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Please read and understand the tags/warning before continuing! Even though Geralt very much enjoys himself there are some serious ethical concerns. At BEST this is some extremely dubious consent.

It’s easily the longest winter of his entire life. Jaskier keeps the potion on him at all times, wrapped up in two layers of fabric just in case. Finally he meets up with Geralt again in the spring and happily resumes following his darling witcher on the road, writing new songs and taking in the sights.

And oh, what a sight Geralt is. His friend will never say it, but he’s _always_ glad to see Jaskier in the spring. That tiny smile pulling at the corners of those pretty, pink lips always sends his heart skipping. But best of all, he gets to see that ass again. Geralt’s wearing his black leather trousers as always, and Jaskier hardly minds walking when it means he gets an eye-level view of it swaying as Geralt rides.

He unabashedly loves _every_ part of Geralt, but if he had to choose a favorite… well. Jaskier doesn’t mind admitting that he’s found his own pleasure in imagining the way it would look flush against his groin as the Witcher bounces on his cock. The first time he imagined taking a handful of that milky white ass, worshiping every blessed inch of its curve, gods, turning it _pink_ with a few quick slaps and the _sounds_ he’d wring from Geralt-- he’d come embarrassingly fast.

But despite years of flirting and making his desires plain, Geralt had never taken Jaskier up on his generous offers. At first he thought that maybe the other didn’t appreciate men in that way, but a few offhanded comments about just what young witchers-in-training got up to in their spare time killed that idea. 

Then Jaskier had toyed with the idea that maybe it was _him_ that Geralt objected to. But he’d seen the way the White Wolf looked at him when he thought Jaskier wasn’t watching. The softness in his eyes.

And finally he realizes that Geralt, his beautiful, stupid, emotionally stunted Geralt, might just not know what to do with someone who genuinely loved him. With genuine love to offer in return. Jaskier can handle that. It takes another month or two for him to find the opportunity to slip Geralt some of the potion. 

When Geralt shambles into the inn, covered in monster blood and looking particularly surly, Jaskier doesn’t hesitate to call for a bath. As Geralt collects his coin from the alderman, Jaskier goes about gathering his oils and the lightly-scented soap he buys just for his darling’s sensitive nose. In goes a sprinkling of his favored salts. And then, hands fiddling with the stopper nervously, he adds just a few drops of potion to the water.

He realizes instantly that the witch couldn’t have been _only_ a witch when the steaming water flashes when the potion disperses, shimmering in the candlelight for a moment before fading back to a normal looking bath. 

Jaskier spirits the bottle back into its wrappings and stows it away in time to help Geralt rinse the worst of the grime away in a shallow basin. 

The dear man sinks into the water with a pleased groan, and Jaskier feels his heart leap in his chest. There’s that tiny smile, the one Geralt saves just for him. He busies himself with gathering a set of clean clothes as Geralt washes his own hair, and then pouring them both a mug of wine. 

As a man of more refined tastes, he crinkles his nose at the thought of drinking it from anything other than a stemmed glass or goblet, but needs must. There’s a splash as Geralt dunks his head under the water, and Jaskier swans back over to the tub as he surfaces.

“Geralt, dear,” he says mildly, “wine?” A great paw takes the mug from him, calloused fingers grazing against his own. The eyes, he recalls, the witch had said something about the eyes; he meets Geralt’s and sees the pupils blown so wide that the lovely gold of his irises is the thinnest of rings.

_Start small, Jaskier, like the woman said._

Geralt drains the mug in one swift gulp, but the movements are lethargic and slowing with each moment he soaks in the water.

“More?” Jaskier asks brightly and the smile Geralt gives him is a little lopsided, but no less honest as his darling heart murmurs a hazy ‘yes, please,’ in reply. It’s a moment’s work to get him another, watching intently as the rich wine disappears into that beautiful mouth.

When Geralt hands the mug back to Jaskier, a fat red drop hangs on his lip. The bard brushes it off softly, pressing the pad of the thumb into Geralt’s mouth. When the witcher doesn’t recoil, doesn’t rebuke him, even _laps at the offending digit_ ever so absently, Jaskier knows the potion must be working.

Thumb still resting on Geralt’s tongue and talented fingers cupping a cheek. the bard speaks.

“Geralt, dear,” he murmurs in a low, soothing tone, “you must know by now that I love you.” The witcher hums around his thumb, dark eyes staring intently at his face. Lips still upturned at the corners.

“And because I love you,” Jaskier continues, stroking his cheek absently,”you know you can _trust_ me. You can _trust_ me to take care of your needs, because I would _never_ do _anything_ to hurt you.”

By now Geralt is fully relaxed in the water, eyes slipping closed as he mumbles around Jaskier’s thumb. He shushes the witcher gently, leaning over him to kiss his brow. Geralt groans quietly at that. Jaskier himself is hard as a rock, but he has to go _slowly_.

“That’s right, love,” he breathes into the man’s ear, “you’re _safe_ with me. You _trust_ me. And since you _trust me_ , you feel _good_ when I take care of your needs.” That warm, wicked tongue laves at his thumb when Geralt swallows heavily. Slowly, so very slowly, Jaskier pulls it out of his mouth.

“You trust me so much that you won’t even remember this in the morning. You won’t need to, because you’ll _know_ deep down you can _trust_ me to make you feel _so good_.”

Jaskier has to stifle a groan of his own when those pretty pink lips twitch and part as Geralt mumbles out a low “feel _so_ good.” He shuffles the witcher out of the tub and wrangles him into a pair of smallclothes before putting him to bed.

“You trust me, don’t you Geralt?”

Those golden eyes, dark once more as Geralt settles under the potion’s thrall, wander lazily to his own. A few drops in his ale, just a little drink before they turn in for the night- perfect.

Pink lips move before that gravelly voice speaks up.

“...Trust you.”

Jaskier smiles widely, as he leans at the edge of the tub once more. It’s only been a week since their last-- whatever _this_ is, but he was never one to miss an opportunity. Geralt’s tense muscles are relaxing before his very eyes, and that’s when Jaskier finds the loose thread that he needs to pull to unravel the man.

“You work so hard, my dear,” he murmurs gently, watching the witcher tip his chin downward in the tiniest of nods. That’s supposed to happen, apparently, and Jaskier takes a little pleasure in watching every part of the normally alert man slow to a halt.

“You’ve been so very strong for so _long._ ” By now Geralt is speechless, the darling man rumbling in agreement as he stares and stares at the bard. “You take care of us all, you have to be _so strong_ for everyone.” Going so slowly takes a lot out of him, but he has to let Geralt follow his logic, let it all settle in as _right_.

“It makes you _so tired_ ,” Jasker says as he moves along the edge of the tub to stand by Geralt’s head. Poor dear thing groans in agreement, nose crinkling as he grimaces.

“Let _me_ take care of _you_ for once, Geralt. Be weak for me, no one needs to know. You trust me, I can’t hurt you. I would never want to.” His hands ghost over the witcher’s shoulders, massaging the knots out of the tight muscles there. Geralt moans, precious head tipping back to lay against Jaskier’s collarbone.

He strokes a gentle thumb along the wolf’s jaw, eyes glittering in amusement when Geralt squeezes his thighs together under the water as his cock starts hardening.

Jaskier trails a hand from the shoulder down to Geralt’s scarred chest.

“Won’t you let me take care of you?”

The sound Geralt makes as the bard’s talented fingers grasp his length is nearly orgasmic, a tiny relieved little sigh from between parted lips the dies against Jaskier’s neck. 

The bath water sloshes in the quiet room, rippling in time with Jaskier’s strokes and the low murmur of his voice reinforcing the thought that Geralt wanted to be taken care of. Wanted to _submit_ to Jaskier.

“Come for me, love,” the bard orders, and Geralt spills in the water with a grunt.

“‘M weak f’ you,” Geralt sighs, and promptly passes out. And fuck if that isn’t the sweetest music he’s heard in a long damn time. Bit of an issue getting him out of the tub, though. 

After that it’s all too easy to dose the Witcher again and again. With each of their little… _sessions_ he grew closer to claiming his prize and making Geralt his.

“You _need_ me, sweetheart. _No one else_ makes you feel the way I do.”

“You get _so_ _hard_ when you let me take care of you, love, when you _submit_ to me.”

“It feels so _good_ to let me please you, to rest your body _and_ your mind. Let _me_ do all the hard work for once.”

Finally, _finally_ Jaskier gets his fill of Geralt. Nearly every night the witcher almost _bashfully_ asks if Jaskier would mind taking care of him, would pleasure him.

The bard starts with handjobs, talented hands playing with Geralt’s cock just as easily as they play the lute. 

The White Wolf’s head tips back when he does, and those calloused hands sit uselessly by his sides while Jaskier strokes his thumb across the slit of that hard member. Just letting Jaskier do as he pleases. Submitting. Geralt always comes with a whine these days, obediently licking his own spend from Jaskier’s fingers before thanking him.

Blowjobs are a trick- unfortunately for Geralt, his cock is simply too big to safely fit in Jaskier’s mouth. Never even mind his throat. But Jaskier, when he’s feeling generous, has no problem kissing at it’s head and finding all of the most sensitive spots with his tongue as those hands fondle the witcher’s heavy sack.

The taste of Geralt is lovely, all salty and heady. Jaskier cherishes the soft grunts his darling makes as he tries to hold back, tries to prolong Jaskier’s dedicated nursing on the tip of his cock as the bard’s hands work in tandem to tease him over the edge.

It never works for long, Geralt’s toes curling as he comes hard- never in Jaskier’s mouth, but in his hand. It’s just polite not to make a mess.

And as soon as Geralt is comfortable with letting Jaskier handle his needs- sexual or otherwise (Jaskier _knew_ his witcher needed more variety in his diet)- the bard changes his tune.

“You don’t want to _hurt_ me, do you Geralt? Your cock is just _so big_ you’re worried it might tear something in me. You want me _so_ badly, but it’s just not _safe_.”

“Oh, love. You _need_ me to take care of you. My hands and mouth just aren’t _enough_ anymore. You’re so _desperately_ horny for me, aren’t you precious, because you need _more_ than I’m giving you.”

“Your hole is so _empty_ , you just can’t help playing with it. That’s right, good boy. My _best_ boy. Let your pretty hole help you feel _so good_.”

Soon enough he’s fingering the witcher as he sucks at the huge head, circling the rim teasingly just before sliding them in. Geralt’s entrances flutters at the light touch, the man moaning openly for the first time when Jaskier curls his fingers just so. Then Geralt _speaks_.

“ _Please_ ,” he gravels, “please, m- _more_ , I--” That low, rumbling voice cuts off with a gasp as Jaskier finds that bundle of nerves he knows will make his darling see stars. He pulls his mouth and other hand off of Geralt’s twitching member just in time to see him cum harder than Jaskier has ever seen him. 

Jaskier pulls away immediately, cleaning himself up before tossing Geralt the damp rag and waltzing over to a waiting carafe of wine. He pours them both a glass, not even bothering to disguise it as he doctors Geralt’s drink.

Idly, Jaskier watches the now-familiar flash, shimmer, and fade play across the red surface.

Geralt is too busy catching his breath on the bed to notice. And even if he did, a quick hushing would be enough to soothe any worries or suspicions. The man _trusts_ him, after all.

He sips at his own wine mildly as he passes Geralt’s off to him. When the wine is gone and the Witcher’s eyes potion-dark once more, Jaskier leans in.

“Tomorrow night, my love, you’re going to need me more than you ever have. _Nothing_ will satisfy you- not my hands, not my mouth, nothing. No matter how much I touch you or you touch yourself, it won’t be enough,” Jaskier murmurs, stroking Geralt’s hair and pressing gentle kisses into warm skin.

“You’ll feel so empty you’ll _beg_ me to fuck you, and it’ll feel better than anything else ever has. My cock will bring you to the brink, and when I spill inside of you, love, you’ll come harder than ever before.” 

Geralt’s length starts to fill again, but Jaskier ignores it. As soon as he’s finished here, he’s going to sleep. They have a big day tomorrow.

“And you’ll crave that feeling, _need_ it, until it’s the _only thing you want_ when I’m taking care of you. You’d do just about anything for it, darling, you won’t mind playing dumb. You wouldn’t mind begging, or pleasuring me however I want until I offer it to you.” 

They’re both hard now, and Jaskier swallows the urge to get the pair off them off just one more time before bed. But no, no. He needs to finish this.

“No one else can satisfy your _needy_ hole, darling. You _need_ me. You _want_ me. Now, love, for the very last time I want you to _forget_ for me.”

The next day is straight from one of Jaskier’s fantasies. Geralt is on edge, which isn’t entirely unexpected when they’re preparing to go off a more taxing hunt. But for something as routine as a pair of ghouls, it’s highly unusual. Those lovely golden eyes keep sliding over to Jaskier, more and more often as the day wears on.

He can’t seem to find a comfortable spot in Roach’s saddle, practically squirming with what must be arousal.

By the time Jaskier has him wiping the afternoon’s grime off of himself with a rag, the White Wolf’s proud member is drooling pathetically against his leg.

Geralt never wore clothes after they retired for the night, just the way Jaskier asked him to so that the bard could ‘anticipate his needs’ better. Standing there, naked, he shuffles awkwardly as Jaskier polishes off a slice of bread and some cheese.

“Jaskier, I need you,” Geralt says lowly, voice a rumble in his chest, “will you take care of me, please?” That’s another thing Jaskier likes: making Geralt ask. Ostensibly, it’s so the bard knows for sure that Geralt is ready to completely let go and allow himself to be _taken care of._ In truth, it just makes his cock twitch to hear.

He beckons Geralt over, settling them both on the bed as he strokes at Geralt’s cock lazily while the witcher buries his face into the bard’s neck. When Jaskier’s hands alone fail to wring a climax from Geralt, he passes the dear man the bottle of oil.

Stars above, he’s a sight. White hair falls into a face practically drunk off of arousal as Geralt trails oil over his own entrance and works a thick finger in as Jaskier continues to take his strokes at a leisurely pace that usually drives Geralt wild. 

Those pink lips part in a low moan as Geralt finally slips a finger into himself, and Jaskier feels the warmth pooled in his gut burn even hotter. So he lets go of Geralt’s cock, ignoring the disappointed sound that earns, and uses his mouth instead. 

Geralt is up on his knees to allow him access, and steadily working his hole open. Jaskier admires that calloused finger as it slips in and out, occasionally pausing to curl just inside Geralt’s entrance. Then the bard takes the witcher’s monster of a cock in hand, bobbing his head as he finally indulges in tugging his own length.

But it still isn’t enough, not with two of Geralt’s thick fingers filling his hole and Jaskier’s mouth and skilled hands working his member. Jaskier pulls off, smearing precome across the head of Geralt’s cock with a thumb as he straightens up to claim a kiss. Let the White Wolf taste himself.

By the time Geralt is easily plunging three fingers into himself there are tears of desperation pooling in those golden eyes. 

“Please, _please_ ,” the poor witcher groans, hips stuttering in the air as he fails to reach his climax again, “need. I need _more_.”

Jaskier feels his cock jump at that, lips twisting into a smile. He’s waited so long, so very long to get his hands on this beautiful ass. To be allowed to take a handful of glorious muscle and knead those globes under his hands before driving into Geralt’s winking entrance. And they’re _almost there_. Just one more step.

“Please Jaskier, please fuck me,” Geralt moans, falling onto all fours as desperation drives him to stroke his aching cock.

The bard slicks himself with oil, trying not to come from the sight of his darling heart nearly crying from how badly he needs Jaskier’s dick.

Before he can line himself up Geralt moans again, hips juttering uselessly as they fuck the air. One strong arm holds him up so the other can furiously stroke his hard member, a string of drool dropping from parted lips after a moment.

“I _need_ you, Jaskier, _please_.” It comes as a breathless gasp, heady and truly _desperate_. Like he might just die if Jaskier doesn’t fill him right this instant. And how could Jaskier say no to such a polite request? He knocks Geralt’s knees slightly farther apart, licking his lips at the sight.

And then, taking the witcher by the waist, he presses into Geralt’s needy hole. It’s everything he ever dreamed it would be, tight walls milking him ever so sweetly as Jaskier begins to roll his hips.

Geralt moans loudly as Jaskier strikes his prostate, rocking into each thrust mindlessly as he starts to fall apart. His ass bounces against the bard’s groin, jiggling when Jaskier pulls out just to give it a light smack.

But he drives his cock back in when the witcher lets out a breathy, desperate whine. Both of Geralt’s hands are braced against the bed, now, but it hardly matters when Jaskier reaches around to stroke teasingly at the bouncing length.

“Such a fat cock,” Jaskier murmurs into the dear man’s ear, sucking a mark into the pale flesh of his neck.

“Such a long, beautiful cock for such a needy thing like you. It’s just there to look pretty, isn’t it? Just there for me to play with while I fill you with my seed.”

Geralt comes with an actual cry as Jaskier purrs in his ear, one final feather-light stroke partnering with a hard thrust to shove him over the edge. His arms tremble before going out from under him, sated cock painting his face a time or two before sullying the bedding.

Jaskier grunts as he thrusts against the Witcher’s taut ass, moaning when Geralt’s climax overtakes him and sees him bearing down on the bard’s own member. The warmth, the way Geralt seems to suck him in, the beautiful wrung out sounds he makes as Jaskier’s hips grind against the sweet curve of his ass-- all of it is too much to resist.

He lets it take him, his release crashing over him like a wave as he throws his curly head back and fills Geralt’s needy hole with his cum. 

Geralt’s spent length twitches valiantly as Jaskier pulls out of him. Jaskier just chuckles against the witcher’s back, reaching up to stroke his hair as they finally collapse into the pillows.

“What do we say?” Jaskier prompts instinctively, already slipping into a deep sleep. Still, he catches Geralt’s reply.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Jaskier."

**Author's Note:**

> All my love to the friendly folks over at the Witcher kmeme- y'all have some truly lovely, filthy ideas ;) Not that I' (or the boys here are) complaining! Here's the specific prompt this was written for, in case you're curious: https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=119981#cmt119981


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